In another life, I loved you
by Panthiera
Summary: Between a lady of the night and her moon. Oneshot. Babble. UlquiHime.


"I'm not your babe, and don't you forget it!" Orihime spat after the man who was being dragged away by Izuru and Kenpachi. "Disgusting pig!"

After he was assuredly rid of, she half-waddled back to the dressing room, having broken one of her stiletto heels. The woman was a sore sight for any eye: half naked with ripped fishnets, and patches of hair twisted up in the kind of knots that took hours to painfully detangle.

The only thing that could console her shock then was the cheap bottle of vodka on her vanity desk, from which she took a desperate swig, spilling liquid down the sides of her mouth. The substance burned her throat, but it was all that was possible to take away from the anger she felt following that sordid encounter.

He had tried to make her kiss him on the lips, again and again, even though it was the one thing she never permitted any customer to do. He was a regular- Aizen Sosuke- a real sleaze; the type of guy you went out of your way to avoid bumping into in the streets. He was known for his wandering hands around the district, but hey, he had money, and that's what mattered most. When she'd refused his advances, a great slap had been savagely issued across her face.

Inoue raised her hand to the spot where she'd been hit, it was still burning, but not from rage like before. It was anything but a subtle reminder of the life she'd been thrown into, her days spent at the grotty little place on Windmill Avenue, destined to be looked at and lusted after for god knows how long anymore.

Ichimaru entered the room, the ever same sly smirk on his face, which she had gradually become accustomed to, even though it took a good few months for her not to shudder every time he was around. She avoided his glaze, because somehow she figured if she couldn't see him, maybe he'd have less a chance of seeing her.

"I hear old man Aizen had to be, ah, _escorted_ out just 'round about now." He purred, closing in on her left ear. Inoue shrugged him off, placing as much distance as she could between her and the slimy man next to her.

"He broke the rules." She stated plainly, still not looking at Gin.

"Oh what, that 'no kissing' dig 'cha got goin' on?" he asked, catching her eye at last. Inoue couldn't look away this time: Gin had opened his lids, the irises two reddish brown slithers upon his face. "Yeah, about that..."

The silver-haired man seized her by the neck and, lifting her off the small stool, violently pushed her against the nearby corner of the tiny back room. A loud 'thud' sounded as her skull hit the plaster, painted a sickly green reminiscent of hospital wards. She winced, losing focus of her eyes.

"I've been meaning to tell ya' lately, skanks ain't got no _laws_ around here, you get?" he scowled through gritted teeth, the reds of his eyes piercing straight at her. His grip tightened on her neck and Inoue was beginning to feel the delayed pain. "Next time I see or hear ya pulling another hissy fit, it's back to the Hogyoku for _you_."

The auburn-haired girl's eyes widened in terror. She couldn't go back there, no, she just couldn't. It was the single most terrifying and violent place she knew. They didn't just sell people there, they sold the enjoyment of pain and suffering, which all the days in hell could never amount to. She gulped, painful as it was past Gin's grip on her neck. Her face was beginning to turn purple, it was a good thing he let go before she passed out.

Without saying another word, the tall, intimidating man slided silently out of the room, and even in his less aggravated actions, there was still a suffocating air about him. Inoue couldn't choke out a sound for a while. She sat in the corner, warm tears creeping down her red cheeks, half laden with poisonous cosmetics, half stinging from the slap, which know seemed like a decade ago.

"Ahem."

The young woman looked up, seeing the blond peek at her from behind his flaxen curtain of hair and the door. His usually harsh expression softened to one of anxiousness, and Inoue understood that meant it was time to resume her work, for the day was far from over. She wiped her wet cheeks dry, a cold bitter sting swooping down on them as she exited the room.

"Hey—Kira!" she called after the retreating person who stood there moments before, and pointed at her feet. "What should I do about this?" She was referring to the broken high heels on her red sandals. Currently she stood there, legs lopsided due to the height difference.

But instead of an answer, Kira gave her a gruff look and continued on his way. Something about that look said 'It's your own fault for not following orders', which she knew was true. There _was_ no such thing as lawfulness for people like her, Gin was right. Any demand she made on clients might as well have been postmarked and mailed to the Gods.

Sighing in defeat, she took both shoes off and climbed the stairs to her designated chamber, where the next client was sat waiting eagerly for her arrival.

--

She approached the room after hurriedly tying her hair into an indiscriminate bun. There was however, no time to fix her mangled fishnets or get new shoes from the stock room, Kira had made that clear. The door swung open on its own, and Inoue was met with a brooding face.

"Hey." She said coyly, pulling the vixen mask of apathy seductively down upon her face once again.

He neither responded nor reacted, but continued to look at her with eyes so green they looked like ripe Springtime leaves freshly fallen from the tree, a strange vibrance within them that was rare amongst the type she usually dealt with in her line of work.

When the man had had a good enough look at her, he stalked over the to bed and sternly sat down upon it. She followed suit, but was stopped before she could touch the mattress.

"Tell them to send someone else." He ordered, which was a great shock to her. Ulquiorra stared at the window intently, waiting for compliance.

"Why?" she asked after a long pause. Deciding to mount the bed anyway, she kneeled and slithered a hand down the front of his shirt from behind. "This not good enough for you?" As if by prompt, he tensed and half-heartedly pulled away.

"Didn't you hear what I said, woman?" he proclaimed, an obvious annoyance in his voice.

Inoue had experienced it all, and in this profession there was little by law by the ways of temptation. What possible reason could he have had for requesting another girl? It was all part of the act, as far as she knew. Sure, some guys just got it over and done with pronto, but others liked to drag it out a little. In any case, it was no big deal, they paid by the hour. The longer it lasted, the better.

She leaned upon his shoulders, bringing her lips to the edge of his ear. "And what if I told you 'no'?" she whispered into his hear, raising the goosebumps on his nape. Inoue began to tighten her hold on him, and this time there was no objection.

But soon enough, he stopped her again, before she could turn him around and position herself properly. He took her upper arm and removed her from the bed, breaking the kiss she was about to plant oh his neck.

"I don't know your story, but you're too beautiful to be doing this." He muttered, and left.

It was a while before the redheaded girl actually registered what was said, and even longer what happened. She was clearly taken aback, and apparently left alone in a vacant room. Her poise, no longer possessing any sensuality or form of seduction, took the stance of pride of their former days; her shoulders stood straight, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted in questioning. She didn't know whether to feel relieved. flattered or disappointed- or whether all at once.

Those green eyes, to what universe did they belong?

--

After a meagre's day worth of pay, Inoue locked the gate behind her and set off for 'home', a single room bunker in the local hostel, where she lived. The landlord was her old employer from earlier days, when she worked at a bakery having graduated from the city university. Yoruichi was oblivious to what the young girl did for a living.

It wasn't until she reached the door that she realised her house key had been left at the parlour. The only set she had didn't belong to her, and so she began in the opposite direction, just as it started drizzling with rain.

She managed to reach Windmill Ave. under ten minutes by running through the now-empty streets. Stopping by the front gate once more, she was about to detach the lock when out of the blue, she sensed a presence on the nearby bench, overlooking the river.

He had a cigarette lit in his hand, and didn't seem to notice her there. Inoue pulled her shawl tighter across her body, and in doing so rattled the keychain in her hand, and attracting a steady gaze in the process.

It was those green eyes again, and they recognised her just as much. And in that strange moment, minus all the make-up, the fakeness, the costume and the stale-smelling room, Inoue couldn't help but forego adopting her mask and consequently just stared, under the pale moon and into the eyes of the familiar yet unknown.

"Hi." He said.

She decided to ignore him, continuing her task as planned, but she was having great difficulty getting the key to function. She felt a burden slowly build up from out of nowhere, it was a feeling she didn't understand.

"So what is your story?"

She halted, not having expected another peep out of the sullen man on the bench. Yet, for the life of her she couldn't feel threatened or undermined by his presence. In a way, she _wanted_ to respond. But what good could it have done either of them?

"Don't look at me like that. This is a choice I made for myself." The words seemed to escape her mouth almost autonomously, drawing to a union with his, as if they were made for conversation with one another. "Don't think you are the first guy ever to have called me 'beautiful'. In fact, I abhor it."

"But, I'm right." He replied, as if on cue. They were only a few feet away from one another; if she turned her head away from the gate she would have met his gaze, so Inoue focused intently on the padlock in her hand.

"You're just like the rest of them. Why even come here if you have such reserves? Don't you think it a little selfish?"

"You're right, I'm selfish. So let me have you this time."

Inoue hesitated. "I'm off duty." She lied. No one was off duty until there were no requesting clients left. She knew better to decline, because he easily could have entered through the front door and said he'd saw her there. It was a dog eat dog world, 'Catch 22s' up every alley.

"So I'll ask your boss, maybe even wait until tomorrow. I've got time."

At this, resistance was futile. It was also too late now to transform into the usual adage she took for herself; that confident, sultry maiden, ready to please your every whim.

At that moment, a group of inebriated hooligans was heard nearing them on the bank of the river. Inoue pulled back on sighting them, fearing the taunts and jibes she was doubtless going to receive. At the last possible moment, she made eye contact with the only other person there, and what she met with was the saddest, most soulful face she'd ever seen. Their gaze connected, the force of mutuality almost tangible, when abruptly it was broken by the first of the yobs taking notice of them and advancing in on Inoue.

"Oh lookie what we have _here_." the aggressor leered, his sleek black hair framing his face, and mouth stretched in a nasty grin. "A common whore, and I was just in the mood to play as well."

Inoue trembled fearfully as he reached out a hand towards her torso, trying her best to edge away despite having no easy way out. However she found that no touch reached her, his bony fingers having been stopped by a chalky hand, gripped tightly around the perpetrator's wrist.

"Not tonight, Nnoitra. She's mine."

The white hand thrust his counterpart's aside, with a deceptive vigour that betrayed the appearance of the act. The green-eyed man was undeniably strong, observed Inoue, from a position standing behind him once again, her eyes melded to the back of his white shirt.

The group left without another word.

In spite of the high aspect of danger in the situation, the young woman was unfazed, as she was used to it by now. The pounding question in her heart then, was what to do now? For a girl in her situation, she felt there was only one choice; finally she allowed that part of her to break free from its temporary reigns.

When their eyes finally met again, she led him by the collar through the gate, the padlock hanging loose from its designated latch.

--

It was mostly true that there comes a time in every girl's life where she wishes for herself the prospect of a Prince Charming. In the shallow waters of her daily workings to the deep, dark depths of her innermost desires, she awaits the arrival of her saviour, her knight.

Sadly, not all dreams manifest into their human vessels. At times, a gesture reminiscent of her hero may trigger those emotions which appeal to so many for salvation, without truly being granted their wish, but are met with makeshift wings for flight, too easily burned by the sun; for Icarus was secretly a woman in love.

Inoue drowned in the warmth of touch, the presence of a once again temporal vessel, in exchange for a moment of true belief that she was in bed with her knight, bathing in love deep enough to scour the ocean sands, lit with the hot-white brightness of a thousand moons.

She felt desired, wanted, craved for, for the millionth time. She felt the pain of laughter, the clarity of tears, the silence of happiness, while the truth was no different from all the other times- that she was merely a service to the loneliness of men, and in some ways her own.

He really did mean it, that she was beautiful.

It is mostly true also, there comes a time in every man's life where he wishes for himself the prospect of a beautiful princess to save.

OWARI.


End file.
